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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29430147">puzzle pieces</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancyfanstuff/pseuds/fancyfanstuff'>fancyfanstuff</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Once Upon a Time (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domestic Fluff, Endless Flirting, F/F, Fluff, Just family stuff, Post S7, Post-Canon, Promise, but it's all good now, it's just domestic bliss, it's mostly cute, it's very sweet, mentions of past trauma, very little plot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:48:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,913</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29430147</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancyfanstuff/pseuds/fancyfanstuff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>The day is Saturday, not that it matters.</em>
</p>
<p>A day in the life of Emma and Regina where absolutely nothing out of the ordinary happens.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>97</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>puzzle pieces</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/waknatious/gifts">waknatious</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey peeps,<br/>so @waknatious sort of challenged me to a prompt contest (or maybe I challenged her) (it was a mutual challenge, I guess) (get it, mutual? cause we're mutuals?) and anyway, here's what I came up with. Sweet and not-so-short-as-I'd-expected, just in time for Valentine's Day.<br/>Prompt taken from tumblr user @swanqueensalad's "some more realistic swan queen relationship issue headcanons": absolutely ridiculous levels of minor relationship blackmail. what i mean by this is 'did you do the dishes?' 'i became the dark one for you'. Hope I did it justice even though I tweaked it a little bit (because I had Jokes that I wanted (needed) to use.<br/>Anyway, this one's for you, W!<br/>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The day is Saturday, not that it matters. With the United Realms cut off from the real world once more, time has become a fragile concept, an option rather than a necessity. A matter of choice. Why take Sundays off, when you can just as well stay home on Wednesdays? Like, nobody in Storybrooke is Christian anyway.</p>
<p>
  <span>Besides, the various wild creatures that now live in the woods surrounding town rarely follow the calendar, so it’s only realistic that Emma doesn’t either. </span>
  <span>If a dragon attacks town hall – </span>
  <span>
    <em>twice</em>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>, because really, these beasts’ short term memories are bad as can be –</span>
  </span>
  <span> she’s gotta go take care of that, </span>
  <span>noon or midnight</span>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(</span>
  <span>In fact, it’s usually </span>
  <span>midnight</span>
  <span>. Nocturnal animals, Emma swears.</span>
  <span>)</span>
</p>
<p>So anyway, Emma works flextime. Henry, being a writer and all, doesn’t work at all for days on end, then pulls 45-hour shifts at random intervals. And Regina…</p>
<p>Well, Regina works always. It’s just part of who she is as a person. A good thing too, because like, being Queen is A Job And A Half, from what Emma gathers. Especially when, quote “ninety percent of the city council are witless imbeciles, who think ‘the power of love’ is enough to run an administration on” unquote. Regina smiles fondly when she rants like that though, and Emma knows for a fact that her wife secretly enjoys double-checking all the paperwork the different departments send her.</p>
<p>Regina has never been one to easily relinquish control.</p>
<p>(Not that Emma is complaining.)</p><hr/>
<p>The day is Saturday, not that it matters. Like any day, Emma wakes up to the scent of coffee and the sound of frantic typing. Sunlight filters through the blinds, mild and promising, a shimmer of spring after a long and frigid winter. Emma’s hands and feet are warm, but Regina’s skin is warmer.</p>
<p>“Morning,” she murmurs, grinning when Regina tries to wriggle away from her probing toes.</p>
<p>Regina doesn’t reply, just holds up a hand, her brow furrowed in concentration. It’s their usual dance. Regina works best with Emma close, but only as long as she remains quiet. Emma requires at least half an hour to wake up properly, but it’s in this time that she is the most cuddly. Their needs slot together like this, like pieces of that ancient jigsaw puzzle some people call fate.</p>
<p>(Emma doesn’t. She doesn’t think Regina and she were Meant To Be, or soulmates, or even, as Snow often says with a solemn nod, “inevitable”. What they have – lucky as they were to be given the chance of meeting in the first place – is the result of years of hard work. Of patience. Of perseverance. They Found each other, not by fate but by choice; they Love, not because they couldn’t help it but because they wouldn’t have it any other way.</p>
<p>They Are, because they made it be.)</p>
<p>“Hey,” Emma starts again, an undefinable stretch of time later, during which Regina’s incessant typing has lulled her back to sleep more than once. “Saviour to Queen, can you hear me?”</p>
<p>Regina hums distractedly, puts down her coffee mug without looking away from her screen. Her free hand moves into Emma’s hair.</p>
<p>Emma steals a glance at the document Regina has been writing so furiously. She catches the words “rebuttal,” “route diversion,” and “infrastructure budget” and decides that no, it does not deserve Regina’s undivided attention. Besides, Regina is always asking Emma to stop her from overworking herself, so like, Emma has Permission To Interrupt, so to say.</p>
<p>She stretches furtively, making sure that Regina has her document saved and secure, before she flips shut the laptop in one fluid motion and puts it on the night-stand on her side of the bed. The one that is already overflowing with Regina’s two phones, Regina’s multiple reports that she took home from the office, and Regina’s heavily-marked copy of the United States Code. The one that is, in short, home to all work-related items that Emma has hijacked in the course of the last 24 hours. The one that Regina can’t reach without climbing over Emma.</p>
<p>As was to be expected – by which Emma really means, as happens every other morning – Regina gives a howl of protest, and casts herself on top of Emma, flattening her with all the momentum outrage carries. This is also part of their dance. A tango interlude of sorts, sizzling with volition, sparking passion where they touch.</p>
<p>“Five more minutes,” Regina demands, grappling for the laptop, the phone, anything, but Emma’s grip is merciless. She knows the steps, knows the rhythm. It’s almost like she can hear the music, and she moves accordingly, anticipating Regina’s actions as they wrestle until, sooner rather than later, she has Regina pinned down.</p>
<p>Emma smirks. “You’re losing your bite, Your Majesty. It used to be harder to win this sort of thing.”</p>
<p>“Careful, Saviour,” Regina grins back, her eyes brimming with lust and magic, “I can rip out your heart in a second, and you would do well to remember that.”</p>
<p>Emma looks demonstratively at Regina’s writhing wrists. “Right… You know what I think?” She leans forward with a smile, places a light kiss on the weak spot below Regina’s ear. “I think you’ve gone soft.”</p>
<p>Regina snarls, bucking under Emma in delicious helplessness. Her pupils have all but swallowed her irises. “I will destroy your happiness,” she pants out, then shrieks very unmajestically when Emma snorts into the hollow at the base of her neck. “Miss <em>Swan</em><span>!”</span></p>
<p>“<span>Sorry!” Emma </span><span>bites her lip</span><span>, fighting the urge to laugh. </span><span>Her momentary distraction has been just long enough to cost her the grasp around Regina’s hands, which, ever quick, are now settling protectively on her ass. The look Regina gives her is both smug and indignant. </span></p>
<p>“What was that about?”</p>
<p>Somewhere in the depths of her stomach, there is still the tickle of laughter, but Emma is wise enough to resist it. The mood has shifted, subtly and sudden. It’s spelled out in the genuinely curious glint in Regina’s eye, and the fact that although her fingers are splayed all over Emma’s ass cheeks, she hasn’t even squeezed once. So Emma clears her throat of all giggles, and smiles.</p>
<p>Open in a way she’s been practising. Honest in a way she’s always been.</p>
<p>“It’s just that your signature line is so much more threatening now that it’s, you know… true.”</p>
<p>
  <span>R</span>
  <span>egina tilts her head, her hair like a tousled halo against the pillow. “How so?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma shrugs. Archie </span>
  <span>says</span>
  <span> it’s one of her defence mechanisms, a thing that she does to </span>
  <span>downplay</span>
  <span> the </span>
  <span>importance</span>
  <span> of what she is about to say. Henry </span>
  <span>says</span>
  <span> it’s her tell. </span>
  <span>They’re both right, of course.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(A</span>
  <span>lso,</span>
  <span> Emma has learned not to play poker against Henry any more.)</span>
</p>
<p>“<span>You’ll destroy my happiness if it’s the last thing you do?” She says now. Her voice is almost nonchalant. “</span><span>Well, I guess the last thing any of us will do is dying. And as for my happiness,” she shrugs again, “I’m sure it would be pretty much destroyed if you did.” She pauses, then adds, quietly: “Die, that is.” </span></p>
<p>
  <span>R</span>
  <span>egina doesn’t reply. Her eyes are deep dark ponds, staring unblinkingly up at Emma for one second, two seconds… Emma swallows. </span>
  <span>Looks at her hands still pinning nothing but air to the pillow.</span>
</p>
<p>“<span>Don’t let it get to your head,” she </span><span>murmurs</span><span>, </span><span>almost like an explanation</span><span>, “but I sorta love you.”</span></p>
<p>
  <span>R</span>
  <span>egina sniffs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma freezes, then stares in wonder as Regina’s beautiful ponds overflow. Or, well, maybe not </span>
  <em>overflow</em>
  <span>. But there’s definitely a little surplus of liquid, which, delicately as only Regina’s tears can, escapes from the corner of her eye and tracks a slow line down her temple. </span>
</p>
<p>Regina sniffs again. It almost sounds defiant.</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma raises her eyebrows. “Don’t tell me this came as a surprise to you,” she says, because irony is </span>
  <span>another </span>
  <span>one of her </span>
  <span>defence mechanisms</span>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>“<span>That you love me?” Regina </span><span>retorts after another little sniff. “Please. I have eyes. </span><span>I’m just mourning all this time I </span><span>wasted</span><span> trying to kill </span><em>you</em><span>, when I could have just killed </span><em>me</em><span> to have my revenge.</span><span>” </span></p>
<p>“<span>It wouldn’t have worked then,” Emma pouts. But </span><span>then she smiles</span><span>, because irony is one of Regina’s tells too. They slot together like this. </span></p>
<p>“<span>I know.” Regina smiles back, teary-eyed still, yet aglow with a softness that comes naturally to her now. “</span><span>I know.”</span></p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>The day is Saturday, not that it matters. </span>
  <span>Like any day, they enter the kitchen at what Regina calls lunch time and Emma still considers to be good for breakfast. Henry is already seated at the kitchen island, a spoonful of cereal in one hand, a biro in the other. He’s scribbling away with the sort of glow in his eyes that is not all author and not all Henry. The spoon hovers forgotten in the general vicinity of his mouth, milk dropping from it at regular intervals.</span>
</p>
<p>Emma bites back a laugh. “Hey kid,” she says, like she always does. No matter how tall Henry looms over her these days, to her he will always be the scrawny boy who rang at her door in Boston, all those years ago. It comes with Being A Mum, she guesses.</p>
<p>
  <span>H</span>
  <span>enry gives a distracted grumble, not bothering to look up from his page. In this aspect, he’s all Regina. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(And yet he’s still in his Pjs, feet naked where they perch on the metal bar at the base of his stool, and this side of him is Emma through and through. Because she has never learned to wear socks either, and Regina regularly descends into despair with the pair of them and their constant complaints about cold feet.)</span>
</p>
<p>“<span>Let him work,” Regina whispers now, throwing a fond smile </span><span>in Henry’s direction. “We can have a cold lunch in the dining room.”</span></p>
<p>“<span>Breakfast,” Emma whispers back, but she agrees. Grabs the box of cereal and the jug of milk. Ruffles Henry’s hair with her free hand before he can duck away. Pretends not to see when Regina turns up the heating just a </span><span>tad</span><span>. </span><span>Like always.</span></p>
<p>
  <span>I</span>
  <span>t’s the little things, she thinks, and kisses Regina deeply in the doorway until Henry makes a series of undefinable noises and waves them away. </span>
</p><hr/>
<p>The day is Saturday, not that it matters. They settle into their chairs like any other day, Regina perching straight as die at the end of the table, her form enveloped in sunlight peeking in through the windows behind her, Emma sitting with one foot propped up, freezing toes tucked under her own leg. Regina has stopped admonishing her for that particular quirk long ago, partly because the position allows for an exceptional view at Emma’s panty-clad nethers, and partly because her chidings in that aspect never really stuck anyway.</p>
<p>A good dance relies on giving space just as much as it does on taking it.</p>
<p>“So,” Emma says between two mouthfuls, “what are your plans for the day?”</p>
<p>Regina looks up from her newspaper, a crinkle in her forehead that tells Emma that the Storybrooke Mirror may receive a stern email about the importance of veritable coverage later. Her gaze flickers over Emma. The crinkle vanishes.</p>
<p>“I need to finish my report, then I’ll prepare my notes for the city council meeting on Monday,” she says. Smiles. “You have lipstick on your hipbone, dear.”</p>
<p>Emma grins. “Checking me out, Madam Mayor?”</p>
<p>“Always. It is my job to make sure my townspeople want for nothing.”</p>
<p>“The townspeople are very satisfied with your services.” Emma rubs at the mark. It’s a half-hearted attempt – they both know Regina’s lipstick is way too high-class to come off that easily. “Especially the night shifts are… pleasing.”</p>
<p>Regina looks smug as she leans forward, placing her own thumb on Emma’s hip. Her smirk only grows when an unexpected dug of her nail draws a sharp hiss from Emma.</p>
<p>“I’m more than happy to work overtime for such a – “ she pauses, her eyes raking over Emma’s thighs that are totally not tensing with the effort to sit still “ – receptive population.”</p>
<p>And with that said, she leans back, just like Emma knew she would. They’re in the dining room after all, and their son is writing bestsellers next room. Still, she cannot help but pout at the loss of skin contact.</p>
<p>Regina gives her a wicked smile, before she switches back to a perfectly nonchalant air. “And what will you be doing today?”</p>
<p>Emma suppresses a grin. Two can play that game.</p>
<p>“I don’t know yet,” she says, casually crossing her legs. A shadow of a frown flickers over Regina’s face. Score. “I might pay the loft a visit. Wanna come?”</p>
<p>“Voluntarily?” Regina raises an eyebrow. Emma laughs.</p>
<p>“Don’t be mean.”</p>
<p>There is a gleam in Regina’s eye that tells of mischief. It is light, and carefree, and not at all tinged with spite like it used to be, once upon a time. Time and lots and lots of communication have eroded any hard feelings Regina has harboured for Snow White long ago, what’s left is a unique kind of cheerful teasing and a mutual fondness for late night walks.</p>
<p>(Although Emma isn’t supposed to know about those.)</p>
<p>“If I recall the tale correctly,” Regina says now, with her chin lifted in a way that is merely performative these days, “she was mean <span>first.”</span></p>
<p>“You poisoned her,” Emma states drily.</p>
<p>“She killed my first love!”</p>
<p>“<span>She also gave birth to your </span><em>true</em><span> love, so like…” </span></p>
<p>
  <span>R</span>
  <span>egina releases a laugh, so loud and spontaneous that she seems to surprise herself with it. “</span>
  <span>Touché,” she says, </span>
  <span>still laughing,</span>
  <span> and then she l</span>
  <span>eans forward and presses a gentle kiss to Emma’s lips. “Don’t let it get to your head,” she </span>
  <span>murmurs</span>
  <span>, “but you’re full of wisdom today.”</span>
</p>
<p>And Emma soaks it up, the confession and the warmth, and she stores it in a little chest of wonders in her heart, a chest that was cobwebbed and empty for years, but that she now struggles to shut after adding yet another treasured memory.</p>
<p>“Every day,” she still cannot resist replying, and when Regina rolls her eyes with an exasperated sigh of “give her an inch…” Emma is tempted to put that in the chest too.</p>
<p>As if she didn’t have a whole collection of Fond Eye-rolls already.</p><hr/>
<p>The day is Saturday, not that it matters. Henry emerges from the kitchen when Emma stands in the corridor, taking off her red jacket. There is a metaphor hidden somewhere in the crinkles of pleather, something about the superfluidity of armour at home, which Emma avoids to dwell upon most of the time. She cannot afford to tear up on Any Given Day, after all. Instead, she lovingly puts the jacket on its assigned coat hanger – another circumstance she refuses to Notice today – and turns around.</p>
<p>“How’s it going?” She asks Henry, who stands in the foyer somewhat forlornly, his gaze unfocused as if he’s still lost in the world of his book. He shakes his head when Emma addresses him though, blinks twice, nods.</p>
<p>“It’s all coming together,” he says. He’s cryptic like that, now, as an adult. Gone is the little boy who would talk about fairy tales for hours, gone and replaced by a grown man who won’t even spoil plot twists to his own two mothers. No matter how infuriating the cliffhanger of his last novel. No matter what Emma offers in bribery.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>“You uncle asked for you today,” she informs, when it becomes clear that Henry will not elaborate. “I’m meant to remind you that you promised to teach him… Mayocat? I have no idea what that means, but he said you’d know.”</p>
<p>For a couple of seconds, Henry looks like he does not, in fact, know, but then understanding dawns upon him and he laughs.</p>
<p>“Oh, he means Mario Kart!” He grins. Shrugs. “I figured he’d like it, but don’t tell Grandma. Or Mom, for that matter.”</p>
<p>Emma grins back, and for a moment it’s just like old times. Like Operation Cobra all over again, except the glint in Henry’s eye is humorous instead of distrustful, and he doesn’t spit out the word “mom” like he used to, but says it with a tenderness that warms Emma’s heart.</p>
<p>“<span>Speaking of games,” she says, </span><span>suppressing the instinct to tousle his hair as she moves past him towards the kitchen</span><span>. “</span><span>Snow plans to host another game night one of these days</span><span>. </span><span>She’s still taking suggestions for dates and games.</span><span>”</span></p>
<p>
  <span>Henry lights up. “</span>
  <span>You think she’ll accept poker?</span>
  <span>” He</span>
  <span> sticks out his tongue when Emma glares at him</span>
  <span>. “</span>
  <span>Asking for a friend…” </span>
</p>
<p>“<span>Careful kiddo,” Emma warns playfully, “I don’t think your mom would be happy if she knew you played for money.”</span></p>
<p>
  <span>The look Henry gives her is about as unimpressed as they get. “Geez, I wonder what she’d do to the person who introduced me to it.” </span>
</p>
<p>“You wouldn’t dare!”</p>
<p>“<span>My silence can only be bought.” Henry grins at Emma’s gasp of betrayal. “You taught me well, Ma.”</span></p>
<p>“Way too well,” Emma grumbles, but she’s grinning too. “Will hot chocolate do?”</p>
<p>
  <span>Henry shrugs. Runs his hand through his hair in exaggerated contemplation, before he nods. “It’s an acceptable start.”</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>The day is Saturday, not that it matters. They have dinner at 7, which is the One Fixed Constant Regina insists on. “Family time is important,” she recites any time Henry mumbles about being in the middle of a writing sprint, or Emma is called in for minor emergencies in the evenings. And though she distantly reminds of Snow White in her preaches, the way she materialises in a crackling plume of purple on Emma’s desk at 6:59 is so utterly Evil Queen that even Storybrooke’s darkest criminals cower meekly in their cells and promise to postpone their jailbreak plans.</p>
<p>It’s Emma’s turn to cook, which translates to Mac’n Cheese. Not because she cannot cook anything else. But because she doesn’t want to.</p>
<p>Henry is a fan. Regina pretends not to be, but although she’s made a side salad, her plate is almost equal parts greens and grease. Emma takes that as a success.</p>
<p>“How are your parents?” Regina starts the conversation for once, Emma too busy relishing the cheese to talk. “Is Snow still salty about the school funding?”</p>
<p>Emma swallows, shakes her head. “She didn’t mention it. But honestly, you could be more discreet in your charity, is my humble opinion.”</p>
<p>“It isn’t charity, it is politics. Public education<span> has to be guaranteed, a certain quality of lessons has to be upheld, and proper funding is</span> – “</p>
<p>“Crucial, yeah. But Mom,” Henry interrupts, before Regina can embark on yet another monologue about how Children Are The Future And As Such Deserve Unconditional Support. As if anyone at the table disagreed. Henry smiles placatingly. “You know Grandma. She wants to – needs to – play a role. At least let her organise a fundraiser next time.”</p>
<p>“You may even buy every leftover art project yourself again,” Emma adds. “As long as the records cannot be traced back to you.”</p>
<p>A faint trace of red appears on Regina’s cheeks. “How…?”</p>
<p>“I’m the sheriff. It’s literally my job to Investigate Happenings.”</p>
<p>“<em>I</em> found the stack of drawings!” Henry protests, but falls silent under Regina’s flat stare. It’s his turn to look embarrassed. “… Accidentally?”</p>
<p>“Either way,” Emma says loudly, ever the saviour, “the point is that you need to stop shoving tax money at Snow.”</p>
<p>“Public education,” Regina corrects, “I am sho- <em>investing</em><span> tax money in public education.” She primly puts down her fork and reaches for the mac’n cheese dish, treating herself to a moderate second helping. When Emma beams with pride, she winks and coyly licks her lips. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>
    <span>Henry clears his throat. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <em>“Whatever</em>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>Movie night later</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>?”</span>
  </span>
</p><hr/>
<p>The day is Saturday, not that it matters. The sun sets like any day, in a marvellous array of reds, blues, and purples, the colours extra vibrant as the dying light is refracted through the magic-imbued atmosphere of the United Realms. It is A Spectacle And A Half, and sometimes Emma is grateful for the repellent bubble that surrounds their small-town idyll. The sunsets alone would attract tourists like <em>hell</em><span>. </span></p>
<p>(Not to mention the accompanying symphony of screeches as all 51 of Storybrooke’s dragons awaken as one. For a species that claims not to be gregarious, those beasts sure act attuned.)</p>
<p>Emma is doing the dishes, because Regina won Towel. Another part of their dance, Towel is a game whose only rule is that whoever gets the dish towel first, dries. Sounds simple enough, but oh well. Nothing is ever <em>simple</em> in a household with two magic users, and a grown-up kid who knows his puppy eyes still work on both.</p>
<p>Long story short, Henry’s off-duty time is, once again, dedicated to airing the dining room, where the potent scent of magic never really clears away. Regina is drying the plates with a smug smile on her lips and a shimmer of purple still on her palms. Emma is sulking.</p>
<p>“<span>Don’t pout now,” Regina says, in a tone that only makes Emma pout more. “</span><span>Very few people can match me when it comes to magic.”</span></p>
<p>“Oh yeah? What about Gold?” Emma hands over another plate just in time to see Regina’s smile flicker.</p>
<p>“Dark Ones don’t count.”</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <span>Emma huffs. “</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <em>I </em>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>was the Dark One!”</span>
  </span>
</p>
<p>“Past tense, dear.” Regina presses a quick kiss to Emma’s neck, which is the highest she can reach without her heels on. “Besides, you were a lousy Dark One.”</p>
<p>“<span><span>I was </span></span><span><em>not</em></span><span><span>!” Emma gapes, indignant in </span></span><span><span>a way Henry would call “mom-style”</span></span><span><span>. “I held back! Out of the goodness of my heart, I held back, and this is how you thank me?”</span></span></p>
<p>“<span><span>Softie</span></span><span><span>,” Regina scoffs, but she </span></span><span><span>can’t hide the smile stealing into her voice.</span></span></p>
<p>“<span><span>Edgelord</span></span><span><span>,” Emma retorts, but she’s grinning too. </span></span></p>
<p>
  <span>
    <span>F</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>or a while they do the dishes in silence. As usual, Regina gradually creeps closer into Emma’s space until she’s all but nestled into her side. For someone who acts so high and mighty most of the time, she really is an awfully cuddly person. Not that Emma is complaining or, for that matter, mentioning it at all. She just sort of stops moving the arm that Regina has leaned her head against, and continues </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>washing up with one hand, quietly revelling in the feel of Regina’s cheek on her biceps. </span>
  </span>
</p>
<p>She might be a little cuddly too. They slot together like that.</p>
<p>“<span><span>What about the Black Fairy though,” she then says, when they’re almost done and Emma’s heart feels so close to overflowing that she needs a respite before she starts crying. Predictably, Regina’s head lifts immediately.</span></span></p>
<p>“What about her?”</p>
<p>“Well, she matched your powers pretty well, I’d say.” Emma smirks. “Outmatched them, in fact.”</p>
<p>It’s comical, the speed at which Regina’s face darkens. Her voice is quiet and deadly when she speaks. “No. Don’t you da – “</p>
<p>“<span><span>And </span></span><span><span>Peter Pan,” Emma adds gleefully, “What about him?”</span></span></p>
<p>Regina raises a warning eyebrow. “Miss Swan…” she growls, her tongue caressing the letters so deliciously, Emma can barely suppress a shudder. Nothing in the world could stop her now.</p>
<p>“Zelena."</p>
<p>Regina moves with lethal precision, pinning Emma to the sink with a wave of her hands, rendering her immobilised with another. Except the spell doesn’t extend to her mouth, and Emma makes good use of that.</p>
<p>“<span><span>Your </span></span><span><em>mom</em></span><span><span>,” she says, </span></span><span><span>and Regina’s eyes flash. “Ingrid. Hades. … </span></span><span><em>Maleficent</em></span><span><span>.”</span></span></p>
<p>
  <span>
    <span>Regina kisses her viciously, all teeth and tongue, her hands in Emma’s hair, at Emma’s throat, around Emma’s chin. “Lies,” she hisses against Emma’s neck. “No,” she breathes into Emma’s ear. “They were no match for me,” she punctuates each </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>word</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> with a bite along Emma’s jawline.</span>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <span>Emma </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>moans</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>, just about managing to aim a weak </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>silencing</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> spell at the door, </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>because apparently they aren’t being considerate of Henry any more</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>. “Greg… and Tamara,” she brings out between two gasps when Regina starts raking her nails over her </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>back</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>. “Even… with no magic…” </span>
  </span>
</p>
<p>“<span><span>Shh.” Regina’s voice is shaking with suppressed fury, yet her fingers undo Emma’s jeans in milliseconds, slipping under the fabric with practised skill. A shudder runs through Emma at the contact, paired with the thrill of revealing her ultimate </span></span><span><span>villain</span></span><span><span>.</span></span></p>
<p>“<span><span>Hook,” she </span></span><span><span>whispers, and then Regina is knuckle-deep inside her, and Emma forgets </span></span><span><span>name after name.</span></span></p>
<p><span><span>Because even this</span></span><span><span> is part of their dance</span></span><span><span>. Because</span></span> <span><span>despite</span></span><span><span> years of calm and happiness, Regina still struggles with anger issues. And </span></span><span><span>although</span></span><span><span> she’s long ago found family and friends, nothing reassures Emma that she belongs quite like Regina owning her with every thrust. </span></span></p>
<p>
  <span>
    <span>They slot together like that, </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>too</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>.</span>
  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>
    <span>The day is Saturday, not that it matters. They settle down in the living room like any day, Henry stretched out on one couch, Regina </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>sitting on</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> the other, </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>rigid until Emma pulls her feet into her lap.</span>
  </span>
</p>
<p>“<span><span>Time to spoil </span></span><span><em>you</em></span><span><span>,” she whispers, putting just enough emphasis on the last word to make Regina smirk and Henry roll his eyes. He doesn’t comment on it though, </span></span><span><span>knows too well what it means</span></span><span><span> when </span></span><span><span>family evenings are accompanied by the scent of</span></span> <span><span>Emma’s shampoo and the sound of Regina humming under her breath.</span></span></p>
<p>“<span><span>Any</span></span> <span><span>film suggestions?” He asks instead, angling for the remote</span></span><span><span> before Emma can snatch it up. Truth be told, it’s probably in better, more impartial hands there, yet Emma still frowns at him as if he’d eaten the last bear claw. </span></span></p>
<p>“<span><span>I say we stick to the trusted rule</span></span><span><span>,” she grumbles. “Whoever saved the others’ lives last may decide.” </span></span></p>
<p>Henry has the good grace to nod, even though he almost never wins that particular game. Regina perks up.</p>
<p>“<span><span>I recorded a documentary about the effects of global warming on the life of calamaries the other day,” she says, almost excitedly enough for Emma not to point out the obvious. But it’s </span></span><span><em>calamaries</em></span><span><span> versus season five of </span></span><span><em>Xena: Warrior Princess</em></span><span><span>, and as much as she loves Regina, </span></span><span><span>some Lines need to Be Drawn, she finds</span></span><span><span>.</span></span></p>
<p>“Sounds great and all, but it’s actually my turn,” she therefore interrupts, giving Regina a sweet smile when she scowls.</p>
<p>“No it’s not, I brewed that antidote for you, in case you don’t remember.”</p>
<p>“True,” Emma concedes, “but the Beowulf attack came after that.”</p>
<p>“I was hardly in peril.”</p>
<p>“You were unconscious,” Emma deadpans.</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <span>It takes Regina several seconds to come up with a retort, so Henry, ever prescient, gets up to put in the </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <em>Xena </em>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>DVD in the meantime. The menu has just finished loading, when Regina finally sputters: “Maybe it was trick. Like opossums act dead – “</span>
  </span>
</p>
<p>But Henry is already shaking his head, pressing play. “Sorry Mom,” he says over the sound of the intro, “but that flesh wound you had was pretty self-explanatory.”</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <span>E</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>mma hums in agreement, then presses a playful kiss to Regina’s bare ankle. “You need to pay better attention to the series, babe – I bet </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <em>Xena</em>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> could have beaten that Beowulf to pulp.”</span>
  </span>
</p><hr/>
<p>The day is Saturday, not that it matters. Like any day, Regina is typing away on her laptop when Emma slips into bed next to her, sighing contently at the warmth awaiting her. Home, she thinks, and the word still makes her heart skip a beat as she curls closer to Regina. Without looking up, her wife reaches to her right and procures a hot water bottle.</p>
<p>“Get your freezing toes away from my calves or so help me,” she murmurs.</p>
<p>“Touchy,” Emma teases, but she gratefully accepts the offering, wrapping her feet around the warm rubber. She angles for her phone.</p>
<p>“You really shouldn’t work in the evenings,” she reminds Regina, more out of habit than any real hope that Regina will follow her advice. “It fucks with your brain.”</p>
<p>“Language, dear,” Regina chides, but she pauses her typing just long enough to press a kiss to Emma’s cheek. Then she returns to frowning at her screen.</p>
<p>Emma opens Instagram, likes a couple of photos that Snow uploaded from their afternoon. It really is a marvel how fast Neil grows up, all serious expressions and meaning-bearing gestures already, and a smile that seems copy-pasted from David’s face. She comments “like sister, like brother :P” on a snapshot of herself and Neil sharing a piece of cream cake with obvious gusto, then closes the app.</p>
<p>“Don’t make me take away your laptop again,” she mumbles, snuggling into the warmth of the covers. Outside, an occasional roar can be heard, disrupting the silence of the late hour. The sounds are faint and far away though, and Emma prays for a calm night as she allows her eyes to flutter shut.</p>
<p>Regina’s left hand moves into her hair. “Just five more minutes,” she whispers, fingers gently scratching Emma’s scalp. “Five minutes, then I turn off the lights.”</p>
<p>Emma releases a nondescript hum, already rapidly approaching the line to dreamland. A thought crosses her mind, a memory of how she used to have trouble falling asleep when she was younger, how she was haunted by night terrors and frequent bouts of insomnia. But her brain is drifting and the idea doesn’t find purchase, doesn’t come to a conclusion as Emma sinks into unconsciousness.</p>
<p>She falls asleep to the scent of Regina’s night cream and the sound of incessant typing that is unlikely to stop any time soon. Because Regina works best when Emma is close but quiet; they slot together like that.</p>
<p>The day was Saturday. Not that it matters.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>find me on tumblr @fancyfanstuff</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(also, because I don't know when to stop, here some honourable mentions of jokes that didn't make it into the final version of this fic (but they're still funny (to me) so I have the urge to share:<br/>1. R: "I cast the Dark Curse" E: "So did my Mum, so it's not like it's *hard*" R: *splutter* "*I* cast the curse, *she* just stood - it's not like she - *she* didn't sacrifice -" E: *pats her arm* "It's ok, I'm sure your dad appreciates the sentiment"<br/>2. R: "Well, you planned to marry Hook, so clearly your judgement cannot be trusted" E: "But I didn't go through with it. *You* had to kill your husband to be rid of him" R: "It was a different time, dear")</p></blockquote></div></div>
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